


A Tale of Two Larsons

by Potkanka



Category: Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, Pierre sure knows how to play it cool, Pre-Canon, can be read as pre-slash (please do), original timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potkanka/pseuds/Potkanka
Summary: The first meeting of Pierre and Larson. It goes about as well as one would expect.





	

Pierre Dupont stepped into the dusty old pub where he was supposed to meet his new colleague. Though really, “colleague” was too generous a word. Pierre's current employer did not trust him to carry out this job successfully alone – quelle insulte! – so he decided to hire a muscle. Oh well, a meat shield could come in handy, he supposed. Making sure they would both come out of this alive wasn't what Pierre was paid for, after all.

He scanned the patrons. Two people sat right at the bar: A greying gentleman, heaving a defeated sigh after every long gulp while staring blandly into the wall, and a much younger, blond man, slouching lazily with one hand holding a pint and the other hand picking absent-mindedly his nose. To the right side he saw a group of three shabby men at the table second closest to him, chatting in shushed tones with their heads kept close. A few tables behind them a middle-aged woman sipped from her glass, occasionally frowning in anger at some memory. And at the end of the row of tables, in the very back of the smoke-tinged room, sat a broad-shouldered man in dark leather jacket who observed the pub with an attentive eye.

Ah, so that's him. Luckily there were so few people here – Pierre had been worried for a minute it would be difficult locating the right man. He started marching towards him, trying to appear confident yet relaxed. First impressions were everything and he was going to make sure it was clear who was the boss here.

“Hello there, my friend,” he tried for the most part to keep the condescension out of his voice. It wouldn't do to make the poor lad _too_ self-conscious.

“Who are you?” the man growled with narrowed eyes.

“Ohoho, no need to be so suspicious! We were to meet here, surely you did not forget?” Truly, it was hard not to start speaking to him as if he was a child. Especially as the man's gaze still held no sign of recognition. Luckily, he wasn't hired to think, that was Pierre's job.

He smiled kindly. “You are Larson Conway, aren't you? I am-”

“What?” the man growled and made to stand up at the same time as Pierre heard from behind an excited voice with a South American accent: “Wow, really?! Hey that guy has the same name as me!”

Pierre's eyes widened but he only had a time to glance briefly over his shoulder – it was that man who'd been picking his nose??? – before he was grabbed roughly by the collar and pulled up to be face to face with the one he had approached.

“Who the hell are you? Who sent you?” the man's nasty breath was hardly coming out through his firmly clenched teeth.

“I-I am _Pierre Dupont_ ,” he tried to pronounce his name as clearly as possible for the one behind his back, for the real Larson Conway.

“Oh, that you, boss?” he heard but didn't dare to take his eyes away from the furious face he was nearly nose to nose with. Peripherally he saw the angry man reaching for something in his pocket.

Three shots sounded through the pub. Pierre felt the grip on his collar weakening as the angry expression turned into surprised and then numb. A dead body fell at his feet while the patrons screamed and rushed to the door.

“Hey, you okay?” The blond – Larson – asked him, holstering his revolver. “Looks like that other Larson was trouble.”

“Yes, well,” Pierre finally turned to him, subtly seizing him up and down, assessing. A shirt, a leather vest and jeans, quite well built with an average height. A dumb expression. It could be better, it could be worse. “He was, uh, he was a part of the job. We had to get rid of him or he would ruin our plans.” He looked down at the corpse, noticing a long jagged knife fallen near its hand and shuddered mentally. “I decided to test you first to see if you are suitable for this work.”

“That's really clever boss!” Larson exclaimed admiringly. “So I passed, huh?”

“Oui, you passed,” Pierre allowed graciously. “I think you might yet survive this. Now come, we have work to do.” He started walking to the exit of the just deserted pub.

Larson followed him without hesitation. “Aww yeah! Let's shoot something!”

 


End file.
